


To Evil End Shall All Things Turn

by Sleepless_Malice



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Drugged Sex, Dubious Consent, Dubious Morality, Dubiously Consensual Blow Jobs, Dysfunctional Relationships, Hate Sex, Hurt/Comfort, Knifeplay, M/M, Multi, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Oral Sex, Pseudo-Incest, Rape/Non-con Elements, Regret, Revenge, Sibling Incest, The Dysfunctional Family is at it again, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-08-21 17:33:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16580957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sleepless_Malice/pseuds/Sleepless_Malice
Summary: Among the wise, it is said that revenge is a confession of pain.Stronger than lover’s love is lover’s hate. Incurable, in each, the wounds they make.—Euripides





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alikuu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alikuu/gifts).



> written for Consent Issue Exchange 2018, inspired by one of the recipient's prompt / wishes for this exchange, and therefore not necessarily matching my own thoughts for these ships. Contains explicit non-con & dub-con scenes, incest and pseudo-incest. If that is not your cup of tea, don't read.  
> All characters are of age.

“Not that one,” Maglor called out to Elrond, alarmed.

Elrond looked doubtful. “Why not?”

“It will not grow anymore after you cut it but wither. It is still too young.” Maglor made a gesture to his hips, indicating which height the bush must reach to be cut.

“Although it was a tedious, time-consuming task, collecting herbs with Maglor had soon become a cherished regularity for Elrond once they had – temporarily, he thought – settled in the wild. This time with Maglor meant two things: a chance to learn something new, and an opportunity to get away from Maedhros. Maedhros, who was always brooding and quick to anger, even at his brother. Even a single wrong word, which more often than not didn’t even sound wrong to Elrond, promised a heated argument between the Fëanorians.

In the beginning, Elros had often joined his twin in collecting roots and leaves and flowers but soon enough he had lost interest in the lore of herbs.

 _‘There is no point in knowing exactly what you know!’_ Elros had explained to Elrond, arms akimbo. _‘Let me master a skill you have no interest in so that at we can double our knowledge!’_

At first, Elrond had been disheartened by Elros leaving their herb-gathering trips. Crawling through muddy meadows together with his twin brought back cherished childhood memories of Sirion. Then, however, the longer he thought about it, the more Elrond realized his twin was right. It made perfect sense to split their talents. After all, they were inseparable and always would be, just like Maedhros and Maglor.

Much later Elrond had learned that Maglor’s motivation to spend the days outside were not unlike his own; it was to get away from Maedhros, at least for a while. Elrond had noticed soon enough that Maglor was different around him when they were alone. Whilst Maedhros was always reluctant to speak with the twins about his past and history, especially about his now-dead brothers, Maglor was different. When alone, without the scrutinizing gaze of Maedhros scolding him for every word he said, he willingly shared with Elrond anecdotes of the past and Elrond absorbed all the information he could obtain.

 _‘Knowledge is an underestimated weapon,’_ their mother had told them several times, from the cradle to the night when the attack had come. That there was a great truth in her saying so, Elrond had realized quite young; the day he had plotted his first mischief with Elros on a friend of theirs. No matter how irrelevant any information might seem today, it easily may become valuable in the future. Whenever the chance presented itself Elrond silently observed - or asked, a behavior that easily led to annoyance, especially when he had been very young. He had been told so often that he was just a child, too young to understand the secrets of the world. But Maglor never was annoyed with him, or least he made Elrond never feel that he was.

*

“Why do you know so much about plants and herbs? And about healing?” Elrond asked Maglor one day, although he partly knew the answer to the last question. He knew it had been mostly Maglor who had taken care of Maedhros in the aftermath of his captivity and still did. Maglor had barely left his brother’s side for many months, had cleaned his wounds and had bandaged them anew, Maglor had told him quietly.

“Tyelko,” Maglor said. “All knowledge I have about herbal lore I have learned from Tyelko, who had learned it directly from Aldaron and his hunters.”

“Even that one?” asked Elrond, pointing towards an oddly-shaped grass with curled leaves. He remembered the day well when Maglor had told him its common name among the farmers and its wondrous and potent effects on the elven and human body. What Elrond remembered even more about that conversation, though, was his own embarrassment.

Maglor laughed, with no underlying bitterness. “Even that one. Presumably it was the first one Tyelko had ever been taught by that wicked band of hunters.”

The implication of Maglor’s words did not go unnoticed, bringing heat to Elrond’s cheeks. Although Maglor said much, Elrond supposed he still kept many secrets.

Maglor went on, either ignoring Elrond’s flush or having not noticed it, and either way Elrond was grateful. “Perhaps you may find it strange but I have to admit that in Aman I was not all too curious about the strange roots and leaves Tyelko brought home day after day. Working on my music and poetry occupied most of my time, training at court aside, and it brought me the greatest delight. Through the years priorities have shifted and many things have changed, for better or for worse is yet to be decided. No matter how beautiful and moving a song may be, delightful and cherished in times spent without greater sorrow, it proves entirely useless in the kinds of circumstances we were presented with after our arrival on these shores.”

Elrond disagreed, despite knowing that Maglor was right, at least in some ways. “Don’t say such things.”

The glance Maglor gave him with fey like fire burning brightly in his eyes, brought back ancient horror in Elrond. The same fey look had glittered in the Fëanorians eyes the day the Havens had fallen to ash. “Do you think a song or two could have saved my Maedhros’s life?”

No.

And yes.

Both knew the answer to the rhetorical question was not straightforward. A song may not have saved Maedhros, no, but in times like these it ensured his survival, Elrond was certain of it. Sometimes, Maglor’s voice could still be heard late at night whenever Maedhros was extraordinarily restless and could not find any sleep. Elrond did not remark on that; he was not in the mood to argue.

“Although it was Findekáno who rescued Nelyo’s body from the mountain it was my uncle’s knowledge of the elven body that ultimately saved him.” This answer Elrond had not expected. Fingon or a healer in their camp, or maybe Curufin or Celegorm, he had assumed.

“Ñolofinwë?” he inquired.

Maglor nodded. “Of course. Arafinwë never followed us, you know that. Not that it would have made any difference. He is just as useless as I was back then. So yes, strange as it may sound to your ears knowing the rift my father has brought between the houses, it was Ñolofinwë who ultimately saved my brother when it would have been an easy task to surrender his fading fëa to those who harvest the fallen souls. In that alone, my uncle’s heart proved nobler than rest of us. And there is still more to it – it was Fingolfin who taught me which salve to use when and how to calculate the ingredients and which portion better not to mix with another, who assisted and corrected me the first days when I took care of my brother’s marred flesh.”

All of a sudden Maglor drew his bow and shot. All Elrond saw was how the rabbit fell without a sound, while several other loped away into the nearby trees in panic.

“So rabbit stew it is tonight,” Maglor said as if the conversation before had ever happened, going to retrieve the rabbit.

Elrond looked startled. Nevertheless, his mouth watered the moment Maglor had said it and he followed Maglor towards where the dead rabbit lay. “I look forward to it.”

*****

Years came and went and the strangest of friendships grew between them, nourished and fed by the dependency that came with the odd situation. Co-dependency, Elrond corrected himself. Sometimes it was that he and his brother served as an illusion of a peaceful life lost long ago, which Maglor tried frantically to keep alive; memories of frolicking rabbits in the fields that surrounded their father’s home, which he had chases with Maedhros; of doting on his younger brothers until they grew too old to be doted on, but most of all of peace and carefreeness. Other than in memories and illusions, the Oath they had sworn under a starless sky never slept. Like a caged beast it raged and screamed day and night, and only kept silent to gather strength to scream louder yet again. They were lost in darkness, until darkness they would become themselves in a world governed by war and the chase of glory.

But the fact was, their friendship was fake.  A mechanism to ensure survival.

Even now that they were adults, well-trained and grown up, the twins were dependent on the Fëanorians. Their lives lay in their hands. They could have run, as Elros occasionally suggested, and perhaps they could survive a week or two alone in the wild.

But where would they go?

Who would recognize them for who they were?

Elrond and Elros had been children the day they were taken hostages and only few who had known them were alive. Running was not yet an option and although Elrond hated to even use the word in his thoughts, although he had learned to ignore his inner voice for his own sake, they had been showing the twins _kindness_.

Not a week passed in which Elrond and Elros did not wake up covered in cold sweat in the dead of the night, with vivid images of flashing steel and wooden houses burning flashing and slaughtered souls whispering to them. They had thought the nightmares would fade with time and peaceful slumber would return to them but it never happened. They would never forget nor forgive, an oath which they had sworn to themselves, sealed by the blood from their fingers. Invisible to the Fëanorians below the illusion of friendship, hatred and the desire for revenge bubbled and was never quenched no matter how friendly their façade appeared to be.

*

Elrond couldn’t name exactly when he had begun to dream otherwise, when Maglor’s voice had begun to speak to him at the edge of his consciousness just right before his mind drifted into slumber. He was no stranger to confusing dreams as from an early age on it had seemed as if his soul whispered to him the strangest of thoughts late at night, of things that were and many that not yet have come to pass and perhaps never will, empty prophecies of a corrupted mind. Those dreams of new were neither untold prophecies nor nightmares, by far more confusing than both combined. Yet they intrigued him all the same, and little wonder as they presented him a world with which he was entirely unfamiliar. The more he dreamt the more the dreams escaped the shadows of night, and in the night itself the new dreams began to mingle with the ugliness nightmares, with the difference that Elrond wasn’t a child in his dream. In the aftermath of the battle, below the bright red sky from the burning fires Maglor brought his blood-stained lips to Elrond’s own and despite the fact that his legs almost gave out, he kissed him back with ardor. From there Maglor trailed kisses down Elrond’s throat to that sensitive spot right below his ear – how could he know? Each detail, from the blood-stained lips to the dirty armor, sickened Elrond to the core, especially when night after night he realized that despite the ugliness he was always hard, aching with desperation.

No dream had ever felt so real, leaving behind an odd mélange of lust and revenge. A week Elrond lasted not to touch himself before he could not fight the temptation anymore. The relief was only a momentary comfort. It felt like the worst sort of treachery – to his twin, to their oath, and to his very own beliefs. He felt worse than he ever had and so he cursed – the weakness of his flesh and mind, the world, and their captors, Maglor most of all.

His desires must have been provoked as an aftermath of the trauma he and his brother had been exposed to at an early age, there was no other explanation for it. It must be so. But then, would Elros not feel the same, Elrond wondered, wiping away the sticky seed from his stomach. He knew Elros did not, just as he knew that Elros would never understand the way he felt. With Maedhros’s help Maglor must somehow have bewitched Elrond, there was no other explanation. Who knew if Maedhros had not brought back black sorcery from Angband’s darkest pits? Elrond knew about the ridiculousness of it; it was his mind alone that concocted these strange fantasies of Maglor, kind but uncompromising, who is perfect but broken. Enemy. Captor. A strange sort of parental authority. A friend – and his lover in the wretched dreams whose fingers rested tenderly on Elrond’s skin. Each time he dreamt, the image of Maglor’s arms and limbs twined with his own burnt further into Elrond’s heart and each time he was alone with Maglor Elrond could feel youthful excitement and innate agitation built up, close to the verge of hysteria. He did not want it, none of it, yet there he was.

Admiring. Staring. Leering. Quickly looking away.

And all those images of Maglor’s cascading hair and the way he spoke and laughed, subconsciously sneaked right into Elrond’s dreams, and during the day he wondered if indeed Maglor felt the same way as he did. There was no answer to the riddle so Elrond waited – and watched, taking a closer look, full of enchanted curiosity. And indeed: sometimes, Elrond felt as if he had caught a special look in Maglor’s eyes, yet he was never entirely certain, not yet at least and therefore he kept watching. Whenever he had the impression that neither the Fëanorians nor Elros would notice how his eyes flitted to examine whatever Maglor currently did.

It was during an evening as good as any other with the fire burning in the open hearth when Elrond realize that sometimes Maglor’s perfectly mastered expression shattered for a second or two and appeared to fight an invincible demon living in his head. His eyes would grow unfocused and his fingers twitched as if by willpower he had to force them still. From then on, it was impossible to unsee this expression and Elrond wondered how he had never noticed it before. There was a pattern to it – whenever it happened, Maglor drank more wine in an attempt to cleave whatever yarns his mind spun and he would retire much earlier than he usually did. Elrond saw it and yet he never came to a conclusion what originally provoked it, at least not until one day he burst unannounced into the kitchen and saw Maedhros’s flattering smile fade to immediate non-existence. Immediately Maglor’s peculiarities began. For a second Elrond stood in the door, with too many information raining down on him at once. He didn’t understand, could not understand; was Maedhros truly the source of Maglor’s strange nervousness? Without doubt it seemed so. But that would mean –

Elrond did not dare to finish his thought. He felt sour vomit rush up his throat.

From then on he paid even closer attention whenever Maglor and Maedhros thought they were alone but in fact were not. There was long-grown friendship between the brothers, perhaps the very reason why their discussions could become endless; respect and care for each other was there, yet beneath all of it, deep below the surface something much darker simmered. Over the years, Elrond’s senses had become sharp and where ordinary senses failed him, his mind filled in. He and Elros had realized early on that they were blessed with a rather special gift – or cursed.  It had taken long until they completely understood their ability to see when all else was dark. In fact, Elrond had deemed it entirely useless most of the time. A clear mistake. It was strange how sometimes it was as if he could hear their conversation despite not overhearing a single word. Maedhros’s mind was always guarded, whilst every now and then Elrond caught flitters of Maglor’s thoughts.

There was no doubt to it, his initial suspicions proved to be correct. That night, many weeks later, he could not keep his rebelling stomach at bay. Undoubtedly, Elrond had hoped that his interest in Maglor was fleeting and would dissipate with the sick knowledge he now had. It never happened. Instead of weariness, now jealousy began to burn in Elrond’s heart. Why did Maglor not once look at him the way he looked at Maedhros? It wasn’t fair but then, when was anything fair at all?

 _‘Káno.’_ At that Maglor stopped fidgeting with his fingers and nodded to Maedhros with an indulgent smile, his eyes gleaming with unspoken promises.

Elrond felt his stomach twist, and a second later his twin’s elbow against his ribs.

“Stop staring!” Elros hissed, voice low.

The raging jealousy had made him careless and he jumped upon hearing his twin’s voice. He had hoped to get away with his fleeting thought unnoticed to spare himself the embarrassment that surely would come to it. What would Elros think of it? It was both sin and treachery.

However, when directly confronted later after dinner when they were alone, Elrond had given his brother an honest answer in broken phrases under the cover of darkness to veil his shame. Out of kindness, he spared Elros the part during which his nightmares mingled with his fantasies. Elros would never understand.

*

The twins had successfully avoided the topic for a good while.

“Have you at last spoken with Maglor about your yearning?” Elros asked, and to Elrond it felt like almost a selfish question.

They sat outside in the garden in the sun, alone as both Maglor and Maedhros were out hunting. “No,” Elrond stated, throwing bark from his carving to the pile of firewood. “It would be a hopeless cause.”

Elros looked doubtful. “Why? Surely, he must be lonely?”

Elrond stopped to carve the wooden stick he held in his hand and turned to face his brother. “I have little doubt about that.”

“Then I do not understand.” Elros looked quizzically at him.

Actually, Elrond had assumed that his brother’s knowledge regarding the Fëanorians matched his own. It was so maddeningly obvious. “He does not want me, nor you. Not that I am saying that you have any interest in Maglor yourself; I know you have no intention to even be near him.”

“Who then?” Elros blurted out.

“Maedhros.”

“Your jokes are not even remotely funny,” Elros told him, making a face.

“I am not joking, Elros.” Elrond said flatly.

Elros snorted. “Don’t make a complete fool out of yourself, Elrond, just because you don’t have the courage to voice your own feelings.”

Elrond was not exactly unnerved but not far from it. “Of us, you are clearly the greater fool if you have not noticed. The way he looks at him whenever he thinks neither us nor Maedhros would notice. The way he is absent whenever Maedhros is gone, the way he avoids touching him, even if a touch would seem only natural. Have you witnessed none of it?”

They both knew that the Fëanorians’ history, especially Maedhros’s, was tragic. “I have. I always thought it an aftermath of his captivity.”

“I am not saying that this plays no part in it,” Elrond said. “Yet there’s more to it, believe me – or pay closer attention yourself.”

Elros remained silent for a moment as if his mind digested the information. “If that is true it disgusting and that is nicely phrased. Yet still, it’s none of our business.”

“Right?” Elros sounded alarmed. “Elrond?” he asked again.

 “Pardon me,” Elrond said, picking up his carving knife, a gift from Maedhros for his coming of age and let it snap open several times. “Actually, I would agree with you.”

Elros’s eyes narrowed. “So why don’t you?”

“Well,” Elrond began, letting the blade of knife dance across his hand until his brother’s hand stopped it. “Surely, you’ll remember mother’s word that knowledge is an underestimated weapon, just as I remember how we always have been saying that there must be a way to revenge their crimes against our family.”

Elros was quiet for a moment. “I thought you love Maglor.”

Fire burned in Elrond’s veins. “And yet I hate him with all my heart.”

“I doubt that revenge is your only motivation,” Elros told him.

“You may not be wrong.” It was strange how he did not even sound remotely guilty or ashamed.

It took a moment until Elros found his voice again. “Be that as it may, it’s none of my business,” he answered, and then, with a certain excitement anyway he asked, “What do you suggest?”

“Now that is my brother,” Elrond laughed, huffing Elros into his side, perhaps a bit too hard. “I thought about a very special surprise for them and I’m going to tell you, whenever I get the chance to. I’m afraid that they may be back any moment but know this – at last we’ll get our revenge.”

Over a month passed until both Fëanorians headed out together to hunt again. By then, the plan had already formed in Elrond’s mind and he was quite certain that Elros had plotted in secrecy, too. He had often found his brother looking at the flames of the open hearth, strangely absent, a habit that was not unlike to Maedhros’s behavior.

“Tell me,” Elros demanded the moment the sound of galloping hooves had diminished and Maglor had disappeared inside.

Elrond laughed. “To see if your ideas match your own?”

“Sort of.” Elros’s grin was smug.

Their plan indeed matched well they soon realized, and they spent many nights polishing it to perfection. 


	2. Chapter 2

Dawn crept over the stables. Elrond observed the sunrise from the window, how quiet mist wafted through the cold air and golden leaves tumbled from almost naked trees. The tranquility of the scenery was a high contrast to inside, where despite the early hour of the day it was busy as Maedhros preferred to set out to hunt just after damn. Autumn had always been Elrond’s favorite season and he partly regretted not being able to ride out into the forest himself together with Elros.

“Don’t forget your water, Maedhros.” Elrond called out, pointing towards the wooden kitchen table where a well-used waterskin lay.

“I thought I had it packed already.” The brown leather breeches Maedhros wore were tightly wrapped about his skin, almost too tightly and Elrond fought against the chuckle which began to form in his throat.

“Apparently not, as it still stands here?” Elrond tried to keep the mischief out of his voice.

Thankfully, Maedhros had not noticed Elrond’s struggle; he merely laughed and shrug his shoulders. “I seem to become quite forgetful,” he told them, picking up the waterskin, adding, “The woods are extraordinarily quiet and lifeless these days and I have to venture farther more and more for deer and game. I’ll be gone at least a day or two.”

Maedhros went outside to where his horse already waited and they all followed into the courtyard.

“Take care of yourself,” said Maglor, and for the briefest of moments Elrond saw worry and sadness in Maglor’s eyes before he perfectly arranged his features to normal. It was then when for the first time, Elrond felt remotely doubtful about their plan. The way Maglor looked at Maedhros was not so unlike the way he looked at him in secret.

“And so do you.” Maedhros shot back a smile of reassurance.

And then he was gone, disappearing in the morning mist.

It was Elros’s voice that brought Elrond back from his musings. “He had packed his water, I saw it,” said Elros, voice tumbling over with excitement.

Elrond scolded him to keep his voice down. “I know,” he whispered, afraid that Maglor might overhear a word. “I have unpacked it yet again when he did not look.”

Elros’s eyes widened. “What for?”

Elrond smiled, watching Maglor disappear upstairs. “There are herbs not only for curing pain and granting a good night’s sleep. You know that despite being not interested in the lore of herbs at all, Elros.”

Elros sounded outraged. “Of course I do. There’s herbs and portions for thousands of things and that is why I am asking what exactly is in his bottle.”

“A diluted draught of Horny Goat Weed.” Elrond’s voice was flat.

Elros burst out laughing. “Elrond! We’ll starve if he does nothing else than masturbating the next few days.”

“I had to. We need to have him, well, _functioning_ when he returns,” Elrond said, surprised by the way he was saying it.

Elros did not seem to understand that it was far more than a crude joke on Maedhros’s expanse. “You are far worse than I have ever imagined. When do you suppose Maedhros to return?”

Elrond didn’t know for certain. “Judging from past experience, tomorrow night, just after dusk,” he supposed.

“Good. That gives us enough time to prepare all the rest!” Elros was excited, Elrond could tell by the restless movement of his brother’s hands.

With a laugh, Elrond clapped Elros on the shoulder. “Exactly! That is how I like my dearest brother.”

Elros pushed back. “Idiot. You only have one.”

Although they had more than enough time at hand even a second of idleness seemed to be wasted.

*

To indeed go through with their plan could be called a reckless move. Putting aphrodisiac into Maedhros’s water was one thing, but the rest of the plan was a different matter altogether.

The draught they prepared for Maglor to be served over lunch on the second day of Maedhros’s absence was colorless and flavorless, though there was a faint taste to it, like rusted iron. It could be overcome if mixed with spiced wine. Though sparse their provisions were, they had wine in abundance, mostly for Maedhros. The quantity of it was steadily increasing year by year, especially as of late Maglor joined Maedhros’s drinking habit.

It took an hour until the portion fully worked on Maglor, and it would be hours until he would be completely awake if the calculations were correct. Of all things, Elrond never doubted that they were. Elros’ talent with calculating was incredible and there was not a single problem he could not solve. They both watched Maglor’s body grow less and less conscious, seeing how his fingers failed to grip the cutlery and his eyelids grew heavy.

“Elrond! Elros! Help –“ after that, Maglor’s melodic voice bled into bubbling chokes for breath until everything became eerily silent like the world on a winter’s day with fresh snow muffling all sounds.

Elros rubbed his hands together as he stood. Elrond followed him, slapping Maglor across the face twice to make sure he truly was unconscious. The hardest part so far was to maneuver Maglor in his unconscious state out of the kitchen and into Maedhros’s bedroom. They had long debated where to tie him up but had at the end agreed that they would get the most out of Maedhros’s chamber, and additionally the iron headboard of his bed was, well, quite beneficial to everything they had plotted night after night whenever they had felt secure enough. Many ideas came to their minds but their life in isolation presented more than one obstacle. Ropes and leather was scare in their dwelling – they had barely enough to have the horses contained – as was fabric. However, a missing bed sheet less would not lead to immediate alarm as would in the way that missing leather restraints from the stables would. Over the years Maedhros had developed a frantic obsession in oiling leathers and polishing their weapons.

 _‘Perhaps there’s nothing else to polish,’_ had been Elros’s crude remark to that.

In the end, two bed sheets had gone missing, which they cut neatly into long lines, not so unlike to bandages and tucked them away in each of their pillows where surely nobody would find them.

“Damn, he’s heavy,” Elros complained.

“What did you expect? He’s almost twice your size.”

Nearly there, Elrond fumbled with the keychain that they had snatched from Maglor and unlocked the door to Maedhros’s room. It took both of their strength to half-pull, half-push Maglor into Maedhros’s bed. He was muscular with broad shoulders, not easy to manipulate even when unconscious. In the end, both of them were exhausted but Maglor was in the position they wanted him in, half sitting, half lying against the headboard. They sat down on the bed, and whilst Elros was staring into the distance, Elrond took his time to admire Maglor’s relaxed face. He was beautiful to look at being so at ease with black hair swept back from his face, not so unlike when he sat down to read by the candles late at night.

If asked later, Elrond would not be able to explain why he shifted close towards Maglor and began to comb his hair with his fingers and then to braid it. From Maglor’s own stories he knew exactly how Maglor had worn his hair in Aman – and never ever after. Except tonight. Why Elrond did what he was doing he could not exactly tell – perhaps to create the bittersweet illusion what their lives had once been. For himself? For Maedhros? It mattered not, Elrond decided, quite content with his work of art. Undoubtedly, Maglor looked stunning with intricate braids on each side of his head, meeting at the back of his head to form a larger one.

From the corner of his eye Elrond saw his twin shake his head and he shot an apologetic glance back at him. He couldn’t deny that sometimes he had his peculiarities and also got easily distracted by something only relevant to his own interests.

After that they wasted no more time. Elros went to retrieve the bag with cut linen from their room and soon after, straps tugged at Maglor’s wrists and ankles, holding him stretched spread-eagled across his brother’s bed. His back rested against the headboard, Elrond had made sure of that. _‘You know what we are up to,’_ he had told Elros. _‘It does not quite work if it is otherwise.’_

Elros had blushed furiously but agreed.  

Maglor’s body has become a strange artwork of twisted straps as both decided restraints just around the ankle and the hands was hardly enough. They had built a cage of straps for him, a place to keep something wild and untamable tame.

“Damn it,” Elrond swore under his breath suddenly.

“What?” asked Elros, stopping to tie his last knot.

Elrond sounded annoyed. “In all our excitement we forgot to undress him.”

“I thought that would be his brother’s part?” Elros stated flatly.

Perhaps they had planned it so? Elrond could not quite remember, all sanity drowned by the way Maglor lay there. He felt his cheeks heat up. “I .. want to.”

Elros chuckled, glancing towards the nightstand where a dagger carved with intricate ornaments lay. “Doesn’t have ripping off his clothes have a certain appeal?”

“I hate you.” Elrond could not deny the truth in his brother’s words. There was no way to deny that every once in a while he had dreamt of something similar to happen, although usually their positions were reversed. Deeds followed Elrond’s swearing. He took up the knife and half tore, half cut away Maglor’s tunic, letting the knife linger a moment too long on Maglor’s collarbone before he put the blade to good use on Maglor’s breeches, which proved to be more complicated.

Maglor looked almost deathlike, save for the gentle rise and fall of his chest. In the soft glow of the late afternoon sun, he looked ethereal, golden, and innocent – incredibly beautiful to Elrond. In all the years he had never come so close to his desire, at least not with Maglor being naked, and vulnerable. He knew he should take his leave, what they had plotted for so many nights was bad enough – and yet Elrond remained seated, enchanted by the spell-like beauty.

Elros almost whispered. “Would you mind if I leave you? I want no part in this.”

His brother’s voice helped to clear some of the fog in his mind. Elrond had not even realized that he was panting – and fully hard, gooseflesh dotting his skin under his clothes.

“I’m sorry. Please go.” He shook his head.

He was not even certain if he wished Elros to witness any of it, most certainly not, otherwise he would have to ask for forgiveness once he was done. The moment he heard the door close behind his brother Elrond shifted so that he was straddling Maglor, sitting down on his thighs. Except the sound of his ragged breath and Maglor’s even sound of breathing the room was silent and for a moment Elrond was content to admire the beauty of Maglor’s face before his mind became restless again. The sight of Maglor, laying there naked and bound was perfect wank material for many lonely nights to come. Quickly he rid himself of his tunic and undid the lacings of his breeches. There were too many things at once he wished for, perhaps had wished for so often in the darkest hours of countless nights.

In his dreams, Elrond hoped to radiate confidence rather than nervousness the moment he confessed his yearning. In his dreams, Elrond’s lips were widely spread and hands were tangled in his hair to force the cock further down his throat, so hard that saliva gathered on his chin. He had tried to guide his fantasies into a different, more loving direction but had repeatedly failed – there was no place for civility in fantasies reigned by savage lust. 

What Elrond did, was nothing like it. He brushed his finger over Maglor’s lips gently, each touch a forbidden and bittersweet caress, perhaps even clumsy in the way he did it. He didn’t know, how should he, having never touched anyone in such a way? Then, he tentatively cupped Maglor’s face with shaking hands and began to kiss his lips, surprised and angered that he could not coerce at least the smallest reaction from them. It should not be like this, he thought, though in spite of Maglor’s stillness his excitement did not cease. He placed one arm around Maglor’s back to draw himself closer until their skin touched another flare of longing sparked, whilst his other arm was trapped between their bodies.

He slid his hand over Maglor’s chest and stomach, hesitating if truly he should dip his hand lower. But then, it felt so good to explore each and every inch of Maglor’s skin in a way that Elrond would never be able to again. For so long Elrond had hungered to touch, each night he had dreamt of pressing his lips against Maglor’s own whilst sunbeams flared on their skin. So in the end his hand reached slipped down between their bodies, stroking Maglor’s flaccid cock just in the same manner as so often he had stroked himself at night. It was the savage harvest of his dreams. Much to his surprise, Maglor’s body reacted to his caress, creating the perfect illusion of silent consent in which so easily he could lose himself. Against Maglor’s lips he smiled.

From then on, Elrond’s mind developed a life of his own and all too easily the lines between reality and fantasy blurred. In Elrond’s fantasy Maglor laughed in delight, so bright and clear, each time Elrond pressed his lips to him, teasing him as they were rolling across a lush green meadow. In his delirious state, Maglor mumbled and whispered words of incoherency against Elrond’s lips; _‘I want you,’_ Elrond heard Maglor whisper in his dreams. _‘Have wanted you all my life’_

“So have I.” Elrond whispered. He was close, way too close to climax yet what he had was not enough, perhaps would never be enough all his life. He took advantage of his mental imagery **,** in which Maglor still panted words of encouragement against his sweaty skin, begging him to go on, then begging him to stop in tease. For Elrond it was reassurance enough. He shifted his weight back, moaning the loss of the contact with Maglor’s skin before he rose to his knees, shifting closer again. The position wouldn’t do, he realized, and then that for Maedhros’s size it should be almost perfect. Elrond stilled. Not to reconsider what he was about to do but to admire Maglor’s beauty; to breathe in his smell, to taste his lips; to feel the softness of his skin against his own, just one more time.

Elrond did not dare to stroke himself after he had half stood up on the bed, afraid he would climax immediately. Instead, he pressed Maglor’s cheeks so that his mouth would open. When he guided his cock inside Elrond felt too much at once; the warmth of Maglor’s mouth around him, the excitement of the forbidden soaring; the adrenaline. In his mind, Maglor watched him with keen blue eyes, encouraging him without words. Elrond felt dim, distant from himself. There was no doubt nor regret. There was them, even if just for the briefest of moments in their immortal lives. Maglor’s lips were spread wide around him, his mouth wet and welcoming and so Elrond dared to push further and further still, until Maglor’s gag reflex brought him back into reality. He shouldn’t have been so bold and was more careful afterwards, at least as much as his inexperience allowed it. Everything he had learned of such matters he had from Maglor’s books with drawings he suspected were Maglor’s own. He thought of them now, his cock still inside Maglor’s mouth, twitching and leaking pre-come, and all too soon he could not think anymore at all. Quickly he pulled out of Maglor’s mouth before it was too late, afraid to kill him in his unconscious state was everything Elrond managed before he climaxed right into Maglor’s face with his foster-father’s name upon his lips.

And there he lay on top of Maglor, dazed and boneless, entwined in a mock lover’s embrace.

*


	3. Chapter 3

Inside the house the fire burned in the open hearth so that to Maedhros from outside it would seem that everything was perfectly well in order.

That it was not, Maedhros had no chance of knowing. Maedhros, who most probably would return dirty and sweaty, with blood and worse from the hunt smeared across his face. The first thing Maedhros always did when he came home sullied was to bathe in very hot water with an abundance of soap to rid himself of the acrid stench of blood and feces that clung to his skin. The twins did not know for certain but they suspected that the smell reminded him of those times he never told them about.

That night, no hot bath would await him. It had been Elros who had enforced his will in denying him even that, in a prelude for everything else they have planned. In contrast Maglor, still bound and unconscious, was clean again. Elrond, with shame burning brightly on his still hot skin, had carefully wiped Maglor’s face clean from seed and sweat once he had recovered. Even now, standing close to the window in Maedhros’s room, his skin tingled whenever he dared to cast a look at Maglor.

Just as predicted he would, Maedhros returned just before sunset the following day, carrying a dead fawn in front of him on the brown horse. Elrond saw it through the window. It was Elros, knife in hand, who awaited him hidden behind the stable door in the gloomy twilight just as they had agreed he would.

_‘Let us combine our talents.’_

Whilst Elrond had become a mastermind in herbal lore over the years, Elros has mastered his skill with knife and blade to perfection under Maedhros’s ever watchful gaze. The twins would never dare to assume that his skill matched Maedhros’s own under normal circumstances; but with the advantage of surprise and the ever-burning hate towards their captors, Elros had a fair chance of success to take Maedhros captive.

Excitement grew within Elrond upon seeing Maedhros return; he desperately wished to witness his brother’s assault, to see Maedhros’s expression transform from surprise to terror the moment he realized who the assaulter was. But he knew that he couldn’t, so he would have to rely on his twin’s vivid descriptions later as they had decided against that scenario as surely Maglor would call immediate alarm if left alone.

Although Maedhros’s chamber appeared dark from outside, it was not lifeless. Elrond, now hiding behind Maedhros’s bed, heard Maglor groan as he came back into consciousness not a moment too early. Most probably Maglor blinked his eyes open, perhaps a little confused by the dim light of the room as the sun was just about to set and into the twilight Elrond smiled. Not a moment later, he heard Maglor’s breath quicken immediately when he tried rise from the bed and realized that his entire body was immobilized. A gasp of shock followed, then Maglor tested how much he could move. It was not much at all, no matter how hard he tried and struggled the restraints would not give in. Relief washed over Elrond. It had been clear to the twins from the beginning that Maglor would never surrender without a fight, just as Maedhros never would, and only when Elrond was certain that the restraints would hold, he revealed himself.

The knife in his hand pressed down against Maglor’s throat. “Not a word.”

“Elrond!” Maglor’s voice was shrill and filled with panic.

Elrond had not anticipated the way Maglor’s obvious terror made his skin tingle with excitement and the flame of lust flicker again, and indeed he wished to hear more of it, yet knew he could never allow it. Not now at least. Maglor, never exactly known for keeping quiet, did not shut up and therefore Elrond pressed harder, the blade doubtlessly cutting Maglor’s skin. Maglor gasped in terror before he kicked and tossed again in his obscene helplessness. In response to it Elrond felt his cock harden again by the way Maglor groaned and panted, just the way Elrond had always dreamt he would whilst he fucked his mouth. A true pity that he could not see him, Elrond then thought; he would give the world to see the terror in Maglor’s eyes.

They had agreed to veil their crimes in darkness, a fact that Elrond now could not understand.

Why let the opportunity pass to see genuine dread and horror on both their faces?

Why not – watch?

Elrond’s heart raced. What was this ridiculous dignity in a crime worse than any other?

With one of the spare ropes Elrond quickly gagged Maglor, afraid that an unguarded moment would be enough to call alarm. Maglor still struggled as best he could, and Elrond began to light the scattered candles in Maedhros’s room, always watching Maglor from the corner of his eyes. When he was done, he removed the gag from Maglor’s mouth and for the first time, he truly saw how awful Maglor felt, the terror in his eyes that went beyond everything Elrond had ever seen. And then he slipped back into his hide and he waited, knife pressed harder to Maglor’s throat than ever before.

He did not have to wait for long.

The creaking sound of footsteps on wooden panels reached his ears, unmistakably caused by two different pair of feet. A moment later, the door to Maedhros’s chamber swung open by the hard kick Elros gave it and with a flash the room became suddenly more illuminated by the light from outside. Elrond was greeted by a wild look of horror on Maedhros’s face, most likely matching Maglor’s own which sadly Elrond could not see.

“Nelyo,” Maglor cried out in shock.

Elrond ignored him. Instead, he drank in the sight of Maedhros, dots of caked blood splashed across his face; his gaze fixed on Maedhros’s throat, veins swollen by anger, and then on Maedhros’s stomach where Elros’s knife pressed against the skin.  As planned, his good arm was immobilized to his side by several ropes, the prosthetic of his arm removed. Maedhros looked worse than Elrond had ever seen him before.

“Elrond! Elros!” Maedhros’s gaze alternated between both of them as best as he could with Elros standing behind him. “Have you gone mad?” It wasn’t meant as a question.

Elros leaned towards Maedhros’s ear and whispered, “He’ll cut your brother’s throat if you do not cooperate,” in a way it sent shivers down Elrond’s spine.

Would he?

_Could he?_

What fortunate coincidence that Maedhros did not know about the feelings he harbored for Maglor, those which Elrond preferred to keep to himself.

Despite the fact that a knife was pressed to his throat and his younger brother was threatened in such a humiliating way, Maedhros’s posture never faltered, Elrond observed. He radiated a confidence Elrond could only stare at transfixed, at least until Maglor spoke.

“Perhaps, in the end, that is what we deserve?” Elrond could feel Maglor’s lips twist into a crooked smile against the back of his hand.

Bewilderment spread across Maedhros’s face and Elrond was quite certain it matched his own. “Have _you_ gone mad?”

Maglor threw the question back at his brother. “Have you?”

Neither of them was a weak-minded fool – that much the twins had always known, and indeed they had expected each one to fight in his very own way. They had pondered multiple scenarios that could happen and had tried to figure out a possible solution for each one; to witness such a conversation had not been among it. Elros was at a loss for what to do; Elrond could tell from the way he looked at his twin from behind Maedhros’s side and, if he was honest, Elrond had to admit that he had no answer himself.

It was Maedhros who helped them, without meaning to. By then, his composure was gone and he lashed out, the anger directed at Maglor. “Parts of me have gone mad the day our father has burnt our brother, and what sanity had remained in my mind the Black Foe and its minions robbed me of. You, best of all, know this.”

Elrond felt Maglor swallow against his forearm. “Then why not accept the mercy they offer?”

Elrond had little doubt that under different circumstances Maedhros would have slapped Maglor right across the face. “Hold your forsaken tongue. We’ve not gone through terror and war to be slain by the savage spawn of thieves.” Maedhros now looked straight at Elrond. “Spawn of thieves and cravens,” he added and to Elrond each word was like a stab into an old wound. “What sort of revenge is it you want? All these years you have wanted me dead, yet here I am, alive. So in the end perhaps it is not quite that?”

The question was rhetoric. They had agreed that it was Elros’s part to tell Maedhros what role he had to play that night but judging from the dumb folded expression Elrond saw on his twin’s face, Elrond was quite certain his brother would never manage. “Can you not guess, seeing your brother so?”

Maedhros hold Elrond’s gaze. “I have a fair idea of it. It is your own words I wish to hear, or have both of you inherited your parents’ cowardice?”

The blade in Elros’s hand shook violently from the rage and hurt Maedhros’s words elicited, before he somehow managed to steady it. Then, he pressed down until blood dripped from Maedhros’s throat.

_‘Coward.’_

_‘Craven.’_

_‘Your mother’s spawn.’_

The voice croaked in Elrond’s head, making him feel white-hot, desperate wrath and in the end it was that voice who told him what to say. “Fuck him.” There, he finally had said it.

Maedhros inclined his head, shifting his gaze from Elrond towards Maglor, then back to Elrond. “I worry that you have to untie him first for that,” he said with mocking irony dripping from his lips and Elrond was at a loss of what to say.

It was Maglor who saved him an answer. 

“Nelyo! You cannot mean to even consider –” Horror clung to each and every word Maglor said, and Elrond saw his chest heaving with fear.

Maedhros’s answer was cryptic. “There never was love without a sacrifice, Káno. The difference was that I drew the line at hurting those dear to me – tell me what other choice do I have, and I may reconsider.” Elrond suspected a trap.

Maglor’s hurtful expression reflected back at Elrond through the mirror in a way that made clear he did not exactly look at Maedhros. If out of shame or rage, or confusion, Elrond could not tell.  Maglor bit his lip and tried to swallow his cries. “There must be –“

This time Maedhros did not speak out loud, yet still he communicated with his brother’s mind and Elrond felt Maglor respond to it. He had never succeeded in reading Maedhros’s thoughts in the past, no matter how hard he had tried; Maedhros’s mind was too well guarded, perhaps caused by the torment he had endured.

For Maglor it was different.

Distress or extreme happiness would often lead to wavering defenses of his mind and every now and then Elrond had caught a glimpse of Maglor’s thoughts. It was not any different now.

Maglor’s mind fought like a caged animal as he begged Maedhros, trying to persuade him not to give in. No matter what, and if the result meant his own death, it was less cruel than this.

Much to his surprise, Elrond’s patience ran thin. “You do not wish to see your little brother – dead?” In Elros’s eyes he saw malicious mirth glimmer and silent encouragement to press down the blade, which Elrond did until Maglor’s skin broke. “No? Go on then.”

Maedhros did not look at Elrond nor did he acknowledge his command. He still hesitated, yet in the end actually less than Elrond had thought he would till he moved. Followed by Elros he took two steps towards the bed, then tilted his head back towards Elros as much as the blade against his throat allowed without cutting his skin. Mockery dripped from his lips and to Elrond it was as if for the first time since they started this plan, Maedhros truly was himself. “As you have so carefully bound my arm, you surely have noticed that hardly I can undress myself and therefore considered a solution. So, Elros, son of Eärendil, will you offer me a hand or two?”

Elrond’s breath froze in his lungs. Of all things, they have not taken that into account at all and the look of horror and rage and humiliation, all at once, in Elros’s eyes spoke volumes. It took his twin a moment to compose himself before he replied, “I shall.” Relief tumbled from Elrond’s mind. Despite hating to touch Maedhros at all his twin had to pay that price if they wanted to continue to play their sick game.

“How very brave of you.” Maedhros laughed bitterly.

One hand busy pressing the knife to Maedhros’s throat Elros began to clumsily fumble with the lacings of Maedhros’s breeches, avoiding touching him as much as possible. That the draught of Horny Goat weed must have been quite potent Elrond had realized the moment he had laid eyes on Maedhros in Elros hold – Maedhros had been hard then, and he was hard now. Elrond did not feel remotely apologetic.

_Ready._

_Functioning._

Just as they had wanted him to be the moment he was forced to rape his brother’s mouth.

At last Elros was able to push the breeches down to Maedhros’s thighs, giving him just enough freedom to move as planned. Despite not wanting it, Elrond felt unable to avert his eyes from Maedhros. His skin was like pale stone; not that Elrond had never seen him naked, no, but he had never seen him under such circumstances. The tunic was discarded much quicker; one pull and the buttons sprang apart, with the garment now loosing hanging on Maedhros’s body. Elros apparently deemed that sufficient enough and Elrond did not object. In his fantasies more often than not it had not been much different; whilst he always was completely naked Maglor always was fully clothed, be it in clothes or armor. Of course, Elros had no way knowing any of that nor had he any idea what it made Elrond _feel_. In all his dreams, Maedhros had never played a role. It was Maglor, and only him. It startled him to no end, but, even so, he wondered how Maedhros’s touch upon his skin would be different to Maglor’s, how it would feel like to be taken by both of them in a way he had never imagined before.  

Elrond heard the bed croak under Maedhros’s weight, throwing him out of his fantasies. He saw his twin following and by the look in Elros’s eyes, he was quite certain that his brother must have kicked Maedhros to obey. He still did force him to move, but instead of watching, he listened to Maglor’s silent pleas that flittered through the air like flakes of snow.

_‘Do not ..’_

_‘Nelyo, you cannot mean to’_

Maglor was close to crying, jerking in his bonds.

_‘ –betray’_

Upon hearing that, Elrond’s eyes widened and he searched for an answer for what Maglor meant in Maedhros’s face. He didn’t receive one. What he saw was not at all what he had expected to see. Maedhros looked possessed, wild, and hungry. Desperate, and Elrond did not understand why Maedhros’s demeanor had changed so much. As Maedhros inched closer, half moving and half clumsily crawling with his breeches only pushed down to his thighs and his legs bound, Elrond could smell the stench emanating from Maedhros’s skin. It had been days since he had last had a bath and if he already smelled it so intensely then to Maglor it must be almost unbearable. Elrond casted a shocked glance at his twin, who only met his question with a smile. Until now, he hadn’t understood Elros’s true motivation to deny Maedhros his well-beloved bath; but now he did, and he understood that it was yet another form of torture, for both of them. Abashed, Elrond stared at his twin before his sight was lost, now hidden behind Maedhros’s body and Maglor became deadly stiff.

For a moment, the world stood still.

“Get on with it.” Elros’s voice was rough, hoarse even, although Elrond doubted his twin was as sickly aroused as he was, his mind providing too many images at once.  

At the first touch of Maedhros’s cock against his lips, an incoherent exclamation of shock and denial bled from Maglor’s throat yet he tipped his head back all the same and opened his mouth. Perhaps he knew it was useless to try and fight back, as Elrond had initially suspected and even hoped he would. In his weird thoughts there was nothing more erotic than helpless struggles, but only now he realized how much he was mistaken. This was by far more erotic than anything he had ever fantasized. The way Maedhros pushed his cock into his brother’s mouth was leisurely, almost savoring and close to the way Elrond had used Maglor’s mouth before, like a moment of tenderness in a callous world. Elrond listened, and he watched, and may the gods help him, it was arousing in a way he had never considered it. 

Did Maedhros tell himself he fucked his brother’s mouth for their survival, to save their wretched lives, Elrond wondered, or did dreams of old blend into reality, and he thought of somebody else? His extraordinary friendship with Fingon, which in fact went far beyond friendship, had been an open secret, judging from the way Maglor always spoke of it.

Was it him whom Maedhros thought of while he pushed his cock into his own brother’s mouth?

Elrond had never met Fingon himself and knew his appearance only from drawings, which Maglor had shown him every now and then. Before his inner eye he saw them now, one by one and he gasped. The realization hit Elrond like a slap across his face. Maglor had mentioned once that in Aman, when drunkenness had given way to courtly attire during feasts, he sometimes had been mistaken for his cousin. Elrond couldn’t know for certain but there was a certain possibility that Fingon had worn his hair not so differently than Maglor had when he was young.

What had he done by braiding Maglor’s hair like this?

Did Maedhros recall the lush wave of Fingon’s hair against his skin, his scent and taste, the way his mouth had felt upon him? Had Maglor watched them fuck, at least once?

Actually, Elrond imagined Maglor standing behind a tree, watching them whilst stroking himself  with the small part of his mind that was not consumed with his own arousal, sparked by the way Maglor’s head moved despite that he was not actively moving it and he was surprised just how deep he took Maedhros’s cock into his mouth.

Holding the knife to Maglor’s throat whilst Maedhros took his brother’s mouth was considered his only task, yet somehow Elrond found it quite unsatisfying, close to frustration. Although having never considered it before, Elrond now wanted to be part of them, a part of the ugly game they were forced to play. Elrond knew he should not even consider it, but nevertheless he does as he watched the golden shadows of the flames catch themselves in the caked strands of copper and without giving his idea a second thought, Elrond surrendered to the whispering demons in his mind and threaded the fingers of his free hand into Maglor’s hair. Maglor flinched, and perhaps on a different occasion he would have voiced his protest but as it was, Maglor could not. He could not speak, could not exactly nod with Elrond guiding his head, or holding it in place and although Maedhros’s gaze had shifted from Maglor’s face towards Elrond’s own, and it was as if he raised his brow in disapproval yet he did not stop, nor did he speak. It surprised Elrond, because Maedhros, in contrast to Maglor, was not exactly known for his never-ending patience. Soon after, Elrond was too occupied to wonder. With the guidance of his hand it was as if Maglor involuntarily increased his efforts to swallow around his brother’s length, to take him deep and deeper still, and at the same time, the pace of Maedhros’s thrusts increased.

Elrond watched, and saw his twin watching them in return from an entirely different angle.

They watched.

They watched as a thin trail of drool dripped from one side of Maglor’s mouth when Maedhros pushed harder. They watched how Maglor’s small struggles against the ropes finally ceased and how at one point he briefly managed to withdraw his mouth to properly catch his breath. To Elrond it was strange that even the dreariness of the act could not diminish Maglor’s eerie beauty, and no matter how debauched he looked, Elrond’s desire merely grew.

And they listened.

They listened to Maglor’s incoherent pleas for Maedhros to stop whenever his mouth was free for a second, the grunting noise of shame when Elros pointed out amused that it appears as if he quite enjoyed himself; without being touched, Maglor had grown hard.

Strangely, Maedhros was eerily silent. He neither spoke nor made any other sounds, stoically functioning like a well-trained dog.

 _Could it be?_ Elrond tried not to think further, without success.  Maglor’s words came back to him: _‘Some sorts of torture are easier to endure than others.’_

_Endure._

The crisscross of scars on Maedhros’s chest spoke volumes about what it meant to endure. Elrond’s gaze lingered there before he looked again at Maedhros’s face, closer this time.

He watched.

And after a while he saw.

Maedhros’s eyes spoke of guilt and betrayal, shame and hurt, yet below all of this burned a darker flame that Maedhros couldn’t fully conceal. Realization stung with such violence that he gasped out loud in shock.

They knew.

They knew the other’s desire, but on mutual agreement they had never pursued it.

The knife almost slipped out of Elrond’s hand. In the end it did not matter, should not matter if the desire was mutual or not – but for Elrond it changed everything. Cruelty was not the twins’ mastery. Now that Elrond thought about it, their plan had been doomed to failure from the beginning. To the Fëanorians they themselves were nothing more than minor figures on a grand board game, nothing that really mattered – they had lived for thousands of years, endured fear and hunger, their own tearful destiny.

Elrond’s distress was not lost on Maedhros as it was so openly displayed on Elrond’s face. “I may be a cripple but I am not blind,” Maedhros told him, with a tear running down his cheek, whilst still his hips pushed towards Maglor’s face. “I was for thousands of years. Then he was my brother, my friend, my ally, just as it is meant to be, even when our destiny was long set in stone and could not be altered. Just as you, we are nothing more than figures on the board game for the gods to play. Perhaps you think, if our lives consist of nothing else than tragedy and misery, I should be grateful for what your childish jealousy sparked. Just take a look of what misery you have brought to the one you proclaim to love.” At last, Maedhros pulled out of Maglor’s mouth, saliva spreading between his cock and Maglor’s lips.

Elrond’s stomach clenched. They had sown the seed for their vile deeds, and were now confronted with its ugly harvest. “So you know?” Elrond asked, although he did not know why. Maedhros knowing of his yearning for Maglor was hardly relevant now.

By now, Maglor was crying too. Elrond did not see it but felt the wetness against the back of his hand.

Maedhros fell down onto Maglor’s thighs and only then Elrond realized that he must have climaxed during the monologue before. He was shocked, all the more when he saw how aroused Maglor was.

“Irrelevant, that is,” Maedhros told him. “I know far more than you suspect and if your mouth is not telling it, your eyes are.” It was a lot harder to feign innocence with Maedhros’s accusation ringing in his ears. “What else have you done?”

Pain knotted in Elrond’s chest, tightening and burning up his throat and at last the knife fell out of his hand, having served only as idle decoration for quite a while. He felt relieved.

“Are you insane?” Although Elros had screamed, his voice only echoed faintly in Elrond’s ear.

Ignoring his brother’s call of warning about dropping the knife, he stammered, “I .. I …” Elrond knew well that he would not get away with any lie, no matter how carefully it was phrased. Not when Maedhros already knew part of the truth; not when he felt unable to conceal his thoughts and misery.

Maglor’s voice cut through all of it. “There will be time for your explanations, Elrond,” he said, somehow managing to keep his composure for a at least a brief moment before tears seemed to overwhelm him again. “Then. Later. Untie me first.”

It did not make sense to Elrond.

Why would Maglor demand an explanation – then, later, when he surely would kill him for what he has done?

Ignoring Elros’s voice of reason, Elrond did as he was told. Taking up the knife again, he cut Maglor loose, not even daring to risk a direct glimpse to his face. Whilst Elrond was busy with the ropes around Maglor’s ankles, Maglor spread his arms and Maedhros, his arm still bound to his side, collapsed right into them.

Maglor’s entire body shook. “I had been content with what I – with what _we_ had, despite not having had half of it. My soul has become an endless labyrinth, shaped by endless love and betrayal, and your loyalty I do not deserve.” Despite sobbing against his brother’s shoulders, Maglor sounded all the poet he truly was. “I was content, I truly was.”

Elrond did not know if Maglor spoke to himself or to Maedhros but what he immediately noticed was that Maglor referred to everything in the past tense. No matter how humiliated Elrond thought he already was, it had been nothing compared to how he now felt.

“Maitimo, you know what the one of whom we do not speak has said, you hear the voice as clear as I do, even now. _‘To evil end shall all things turn.’_ Our friendship, our fraternal love – it all has turned to wretched evil and misery. Not bravery nor skill or love can prevail us for what he have become. I have vowed to remain faithful to our own beliefs. And yet – we are nothing more than puppets on a string of the Oath.”

“Do not speak of it. Not here, not now.” Maedhros tried to comfort Maglor as best he could, without much success. The sobbing never ceased.

Elrond tried to veil the hurt from his face. The misery was the twins fault, and theirs alone. There was no excuse for the ugliness they had forced upon the and no cure for the pained look on Maglor’s face that Elrond saw. What must he dream at night of tempest and arousal kindled by Maglor’s lips, of skin against skin amidst the furs and why must his dreams linger even during wakefulness? The world said the Fëanorians were monsters, and perhaps they indeed were, yet now, in the flickering light of the candles the only monsters present was he and his twin.

“Right here we must speak of it.” Maglor’s breath caught off in a strangled choke. “Do you not see, Nelyo? Even they are corrupted by the Oath, by our presence, you have implied that yourself a moment ago. To evil end shall all things turn – don’t you realize it, Maitimo?”

Maedhros kissed Maglor on the forehead. “What Elrond did, he did alone. The Oath had no part in it.”

“Nothing happens and is being done without a reason and much unhappiness has come into the world from bewilderment and things left unsaid,” Maglor said, and for the first time his voice did not shake with tremor. His face rose from Maedhros’s shoulders towards his face and then he leaned in, kissing Maedhros on the lips fully.

Elrond stared abashed, surprised that not a glimpse of jealously arose. Instead he felt gooseflesh spread across his entire skin when he watched them kiss and his mind went wild with it. The way their mouths met was more erotic than everything he had seen before; the tenderness of how Maglor ran his hands through Maedhros’s blood-caked hair as if he had done it a thousand times before. Common sense dictated him that he should be scandalized, or to be at least repulsed by what he saw, but why? Laws and customs aside, there was nothing shameful in the way they touched and looked at each other, there was genuine affection and nothing else. For the Fëanorians there was only here and now, no time left to consider or to rationalize, when at last fate had offered the most unlikely form of mercy.

Still watching them, Elrond tried to understand: was their desire truly worse than everything else they had done? He knew his own answer to it, still he wondered. Why hold back when their reputation was gone already, crumbled to ash? On another occasion Elros would have mocked him for his tendency to overanalyze things but right now his twin was busy to fight against his own emotions. 

Elrond gulped.

“Do not ever attempt such folly again.” They heard Maedhros say, breaking the kiss. It was the weakest attempt of denial.

Elrond looked from Maedhros towards Elros who almost stood in the door. Bright shame burned on his twin’s face, which most likely mimicked his own.

A glance passed between the twins and then a nod of mutual agreement. They had to leave for their all’s sake as whatever path Maedhros and Maglor decided to take from there was not meant for them to see. They sneaked like thieves out of Maedhros’s chamber.

“We shall have a word or two about this,” they heard Maedhros call after them as Elrond attempted to close the door. There was little doubt about that.

Tears ran down Elrond’s cheeks. Never before had he felt so miserable in his life. They had not been raised to commit the vilest of crimes, not by their parents nor those who had taken care of them. That night they had become monsters.

Elros was close to crying, although out of entirely different reasons. “Elrond, they will kill us once dawn comes. Come!”

Elrond stood as if he was rooted to the ground, batting Elros’s hand away.

The terror in his twin’s voice was palpable. “Elrond! By all what is dear, we must leave. Immediately.”

Elrond wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, then stated. “I shall not run, nor will I hide.”

“They will kill us!”

“And perhaps I well deserve it.” Elrond looked down to the floor, rephrasing the words in his head. “Not perhaps, indeed I would.”

“I cannot lose you.” Elros would not – could not bring himself to match Elrond’s eyes. He stared resolutely to the floor.

Elrond sighed, taking a step towards his twin. “They will not kill us.”

He remembered those moments Maglor and he had shared in the woods, remembered the way Maglor had laughed over necessities, wispy and wan, remembered how for an hour or two he could forget Maedhros and his past. Their love mimicked their lives’ tragedy. “They won’t.”

“How can you be so certain?” This time, Elros looked up.

Elrond had no sufficient explanation. “I merely know.”

He knew. From the way Maglor had looked at Maedhros; how he had embraced his brother; the way Maedhros’s demeanor had fallen to pieces the moment Maglor had kissed him.

“I know.” This time, Elrond wrapped his arms around his brother.


	4. Chapter 4

From below the sound of pipes and flutes echoed through the air, accompanied by the cheerful laughter of merriment and Maedhros saw bonfires leaping towards the night sky. At last victory had come to the host of Valinor and all their followers, and Thangorodrim had fallen into ruin and ashes and with it the Black Foe and all his minions. Even in their hide, an old shelter deep in the forest, the news had reached the Fëanorians; that their father’s gems had been recovered from Morgoth’s crown. They had lost no time in tracking down Eönwë’s encampment where **[** Elves and Men and Maiar celebrated for endless days; their father’s heirloom was theirs by right and louder than ever the Oath had called to them, whispering night and day. They had sent a message to the Elder King’s herald, bidding him to give back what was theirs to inherit. The answer they received was disappointing, yet what was more disappointing to Maedhros was Maglor’s reaction to all of it.  

Looking down at the burning fires, Maglor’s words still rung like blasphemy in Maedhros’s ears. _‘It may be that in Valinor all be forgiven and forgotten.’_

It had been years since Maedhros had last heard something more idiotic than that, and it still enraged him how easily Maglor was swayed and corrupted by idle words. Without the blink of an eye, Maglor would betray their father’s heirloom and everything else they lived for to return to Aman and submit to the Valar’s cruel will.

 

*

They waited and took council; they argued. And when they did not, they fucked.

“You never were content as it was,” Maedhros lashed out, angered by the memory of how Maglor had prostituted himself before Eönwë. “You were jealous. Even in Aman you were jealous.”

As he had so often of late Maglor played with the dagger their father had gifted him for his own coming of age. Despite having possessed numerous other weapons throughout the years, it still was his favorite, holding so many memories. When he spoke he didn’t look at Maedhros, staring into the distance. “And I had every reason to when you sneaked away late at night right into Findekáno’s bed.”

Maedhros’s laugh was pure mockery. “Reason?”

The blade of Maglor’s dagger was on his throat, not yet hard enough to draw blood but close to it, before he could speak any further. “Reason for a thousand years,” Maglor hissed, and despite not wanting it, the way his brother’s breath tickled his skin made Maedhros moan. The scenario unfolding right after was not unlike to how it usually begun between them. Sometimes it was him attacking Maglor, sometimes it was the other way round; that way, creating the illusion that consent was entirely lacking, it was easier to give into the illicit desires.

Maglor’s hand, now rough and calloused from too many years spent in the wild, grabbed him at the wrist, and while he did, the blade sank into his skin. Maedhros struggled, in hope to get away and yet with desperation, feeling the oh so familiar fire burn; the morning after the twin’s assault, sweaty and exhausted with the air heavy with arousal, they had sworn to never act upon their desire again but they had failed the day Elros and Elrond had left, and often ever after. All too easily fingers entangled themselves in each other’s hair and teeth sunk into bruised lips until for at least a few moments the call of the oath was silent and blood mingled with sweat and seed upon their skin, and the smell of sex twined with burning peat. Right now, teeth sank into Maedhros’s neck, and he could feel the mark being sucked right into his skin and he did not even attempt to stifle the groan. 

There was no kindness in what they did – there was anger and desperation, wrath and hate that fueled the desire, and said desire only fueled the anger, and before long they were caught in a vicious cycle unable to keep the violence at bay. Maedhros kissed his brother the moment Maglor withdrew from his throat, rough and hard, with his arm possessively wrapped around his brother’s waist. He could feel Maglor trying to rear back, and when he failed, the blade cut into Maedhros’s skin anew, right there where Maglor had marked him and as it did, his own nails scratched along Maglor’s back until blood was drawn.  

“Jealousy is seldom befitting, for you least of all,” Maedhros laughed after breaking the kiss, quite humorous and exactly how he knew Maglor hated it.

Maglor’s words were laughable yet weirdly prophetic. “I should gag you.”

“Then by all means do! It will be no less true though. With amusement Maedhros waited, knowing well that he did not have to wait for long. Of late, Maglor was utterly predictable.

As half-expected and half-desired, Maglor acted exactly the way Maedhros wanted him to act while at the same time pretending that he did not. With a well-placed move he forced Maedhros down to his knees, who struggled simply for the sake of it before he settled on his heels, not even trying to school his features. He looked smug, as if he keenly awaited his brother’s act of sick desire, and if he was honest he indeed did, his hard cock betraying him as always. With the Oath ringing ever louder in his ears, reality too often blended with his past and all too easily he forgot himself and fell back into patterns he detested. A slap across his face brought him back into the presence then, followed by Maglor fisting his greasy hair and out of spite, Maedhros opened his mouth to welcome his brother’s cock. He knew how much Maglor wished to see him fight whilst towering over him, he knew – and he saw it in his brother’s eyes, his look, wild and hungry.

Controlling hands forced Maedhros’s head closer towards Maglor’s body and he swallowed as best he could, knowing well that spit and saliva would soon trickle down his chin no matter how hard he tried to suppress his gagging. He also knew that Maglor would groan with pleasure.

In moments like these nothing else should matter; not the Oath, nor their god-forsaken past and a future that perhaps would be even worse, a lifetime spent in despair, yet not even then Maedhros managed to focus solely on the pleasure his mouth brought Maglor. Driven by weariness, Maglor had almost given in to Eönwë’s wretched offer and surrendered everything they lived for to face judgment before the thrones of the Valar. He had raised his sword against kin, and Maedhros knew he would have done again, slaying his own brother for the highest form of treason. Tremor wrecked Maedhros’s body, when a thrust way too hard brought him back to reality.

What had become of them, Maedhros wondered, choking by the way Maglor fucked his throat now, hard and unrelenting. Brothers who fucked each other until blood was drawn, disheveled outlaws hiding in the forest from the hostilities their past caused, brothers who then lay together as if innocence was still part of their world. Maedhros struggled to differentiate what he felt for Maglor, the love and adoration and yet the hate whenever he dared to forsake the oath. A few more thrusts right into his throat, followed by warm seed told him that Maglor had finished, as did the hands disappearing from his head.

*

Maedhros did not like his fingers; they were too long and skinny, with swollen knuckles where once they had been broken and never properly healed, with skin too rough and calloused, and it was a mystery why Maglor could never stop kissing them when they lay like this, entwined on the damp grass until Maglor’s sobbing had ceased.

“To evil end shall all things turn and long before they have,” Maglor whispered, lips now pressed against Maedhros’s chest, wet from tears and sweat and blood. “Will you forgive me, Nelyo? One last time?”

“I will,” Maedhros said, kissing Maglor on the forehead, then on his lips. “I will now, and will a hundred times more. The question is: will you?”

“How should I not?” asked Maglor, eyes wide and still full of tears.

Maedhros felt bad for taking advantage of his brother’s weakness. What he was about to do was emotional blackmail. “Then come with me to reclaim our father’s heirloom, right now before dawn breaks. We must not tarry until the Silmarilli are forever out of reach.”

Maglor swallowed, then exhaled. “To the bitter end I shall follow you,” he whispered, barely audible before he pressed his lips to Maedhros’s own.


	5. Chapter 5

The news of the theft of the Silmarils and Maedhros’ suicide spread through the city on the Isle of Balar like wildfire.

The twins sat on top of the wall that guarded the city with their legs dangling, watching the sun go down over the sparkling sea. “At last his suffering has come to an end,” Elros said, a statement that took Elrond by surprise. As if his brother has read his mind he added, “I did not like him much, yet I did pity his fate.”

Elrond agreed. “So did I, although I disliked him a little less.”

Silence followed until Elros turned his face to look at Elrond who still stared into the distance.

“Did you ever apologize to Maglor? I mean for what _you_ did?” They had avoided the topic until then.

Elrond nodded, turning his head so that he looked at his twin. “I tried.”

“What do you mean by you tried?”

“That I tried. Once.” The words echoed in Elrond’s mind as if they were spoken yet again. “ _’Do not apologize for something you do not feel sorry for,’_ Maglor told me. I had no answer to that. Not then, nor now.” Ashamed he looked away again, out towards the swaying ships.

Elros reached out and squeezed Elrond’s hand in a comforting manner. “Do not burden yourself with things which cannot be undone. One day you may find an answer, and perhaps peace. He forgave you long ago.”

Elrond turned back to face his twin. “How would you know?”

“He told me so the morning we left, when you still quarreled with Maedhros about who owned which weapon.” The discussion had indeed been a heated one, Elrond remembered. “And he asked me to give you this, whenever I think the time for it is.” Unseen by Elrond his brother had retrieved a crumpled scroll of rudimentary parchment from his robe, sealed with red wax that bore Maglor’s initials and the eight-pointed star. Silently, Elros offered the parchment to Elrond who felt close to crying as he took it between his hands.

“I shall see you for breakfast,” Elros announced and hopped off the wall, leaving Elrond sitting in the dying fire of the sunset.

*

**Author's Note:**

> I wish Tolkien gave us a timeline for these events, and told us where Elrond and Elros went. As he did not, I had to take certain liberties.  
> Many thanks to my avid beta reader


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